


I'll Be Back Next Year

by jeenburchtime



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camp, Fluff, M/M, Summer Camp AU, attack on titan - Freeform, friend feelings turning into gay feelings, jeanmarco, shingeki no kyojin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeenburchtime/pseuds/jeenburchtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a first-year counselor at his favorite summer camp, and ends up being co-counselors with the undercut kid he ran into at the gas station on the drive over.<br/>Fluff galore, sappy stuff, camp stuff... yeah.<br/>Marco's POV.<br/>Hope you enjoy!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do I Know You?

“Are you packed yet Marco?” I hear my mom shout from downstairs. “We need to head out in the next 20 minutes if you’re gonna make it in time!”

“Yeah, just gimme a sec!” I shout back through my bedroom door, pausing for a brief moment while I try to remember where I put my whistle after last summer’s camp session. 

I got up extra early to pack the last minute items I needed, but of course I entirely forgot about the whistle until a few moments before my mom called up to me.

Camp Trost is my favorite place in the world. I have been going there for the last seven consecutive summers, dreaming since the very first year that I’d be asked back as a counselor, and it was finally happening.  
Not many people from high school knew this side of me. Partly because I would be teased endlessly for still “being a kid”, but mostly because I don’t want anyone else to know about Camp Trost. It’s my happy place, my secret haven, and having people there from Jinae High would completely ruin that for me. It would cross my two distinctly different worlds.  
But this summer is going to be different than all the sessions I've attended previously. This time, I had been invited back to be a counselor.

I’m ripped from my thoughts by the sound of my mom quickly approaching my bedroom door and slamming her palm on the wooden frame, with her other hand in a fist against her hip. 

“Marco! What could you still possibly be packing? We need to go, it’s already seven AM.” 

“Okay, okay, sorry!” I say defensively. “I just can’t find my whistle…” 

“We can just grab another one on the way, alright? Let’s go.” She claps twice to add more of a sense of urgency. She’s right though—although the camp  
coordinator, Erwin, is a nice guy, he will not be happy if I’m late to new staff orientation. 

I zip up my overstuffed duffel bag, lift it onto my shoulder, and follow my mom out of my room and down the stairs. 

“Bye, house,” I whisper as I shoved on my shoes. 

“I already have your paddle and lifejacket in the trunk,” she tells me as she opens the front door. I thank her for remembering to grab them and step out onto the porch, squinting as the warm light of day makes contact with my face. I’m finally going to be able to enjoy the summer weather, instead of studying for exams,  
trapped inside. So glad those were over. 

The drive to Camp Trost is about 4 hours, and I could do it myself, but my mother insisted on driving me as this time as I’m going to be gone for the whole summer—not the usual three week session. Understandably, she wants to spend as much time with me as she can before I’m gone. 

“Dad texted me to wish you good luck,” mom reports as she closes the trunk; my duffel bag, paddle and lifejacket now stuffed in the back of the SUV. 

“Wish he could have been here to see me off,” I mumble to myself, walking to the passenger seat and climbing in. 

My dad was always working, and at the moment he’s on a business trip. Because of his work, we aren’t all that close. I missed out on the father-son bonding time that seems to occur at some point in every man’s boyhood. Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad, but my childhood memories with him are few and far between, so they’re very special to me. As an only child, it can get lonely.

I turn on the radio as my mom backs out of the driveway. Commercials, as usual. 

“Just let me know when you get tired and need to switch,” I tell her, watching our small brick house disappear in the rearview mirror. 

I let my head rest against the seat and begin to close my eyes just when the beginning chords of “Sugar” by Maroon 5 come through the speakers. I immediately sit up and turn to face my mom, whose eyes briefly meet mine before we both begin belting out the lyrics. Maroon 5 is my guilty pleasure, and luckily I can share in it with my mom. We dance like idiots in our seats—as much as is possible anyway—until the end of the song. Call me a momma’s boy, but I love being close with her. 

The next couple of hours pass in idle chit chat and occasional silence until we pull over at a gas station to stretch our legs and switch drivers. 

“I’m gonna go pee and get some snacks, want anything?” I ask.

“You know what I like!” mom answers cheerily, getting into the passenger side. 

“Coke and gummy bears, got it.” I smile, heading towards the automatic doors of the gas station shop. 

I have a tendency to look at my feet while I walk, so when I finally look up to walk through the sliding doors, I nearly body-slam the person walking out. 

“Shit, ouch.” 

“O-oh man, I’m so sorry,” I stutter, looking slightly downward into a pair of bright brown eyes, currently hidden under thin, furrowed eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, rubbing his nose. I feel a slight twang of pain right below my collarbone, and realize that was what his nose had collided with. “I should have been paying attention.” 

“No, no, it’s totally my fault! I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I reach up to rub the back of my neck, feeling awkward now. “I hope your nose is okay…” 

“I’m sure I’ll survive. Have a good one.”  
With that, he steps to my side and exits the shop. 

“You, too. Sorry again!” I call after him. He turns his head slightly, enough for me to catch his angular profile, and gives me a small wave before turning to walk back to his car. 

Whoops, I think to myself as I spin around and fully enter the store, heading to the refrigerated section. 

 

***

 

I climb into the driver’s seat, handing my mom her treats. “Here you go!” 

“Thanks, baby,” she says, cracking open the can of Coke. “What happened back there?” she asks in a light, joking tone. Clearly she had seen my embarrassing moment. 

“Oh, you saw that?” I chuckle. “Just spaced out, I guess.” 

“He was cute,” she comments, sipping her drink. 

“Moooom,” I groan, turning the key in the ignition. Ever since I had come out to her as bisexual the year before—during my junior year of high school—she said things like that. It doesn’t bother me though, because she had been so accepting and understanding of me. She loves me just the same, so I can deal with her silly comments. 

“What? I’m just saying…” she trails, popping a gummy bear in her mouth. 

I let out a breathy chuckle as I pulled out of the station and back onto the highway. 

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking the same thing,” I say quietly, after a few minutes have passed.

“Hm?”

“That he was cute?” I say it as a question, as it seems my mother has already moved on to other thoughts. 

“Oh, yeah. He had interesting hair.” 

“But such an angry face.” 

“Probably because you walked straight into the guy.” 

“True.” I’m relieved in knowing that I’ll probably never see him again. 

 

***

 

Soon, we we’re headed down the long, tree-lined road that leads to Camp Trost. I recall all the times I have come down this same road, bouncing in the back seat, butterflies in my stomach. The butterflies are still there this time, but there is something new in the mix. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Fear, maybe. I’m nervous about being on staff. It was going to be a huge responsibility, and I don’t want to let Erwin down. I’ve been a loyal camper for years, and I want Erwin to know that I’m worthy of representing his camp as an employee. 

“There’s the sign, sweetie,” my mom says, almost whispering. She reaches her arm out to lightly squeeze my shoulder. The Camp Trost sign is one of the most beautiful sights of my life. It’s the sign that points to my second home—my second family.  
I turn left onto the gravel road marking the entrance of the camp, passing the bright yellow and blue sign. I struggle to hold in my girlish squeals while I drive slowly down the path. 

“This is different, there’s no one here to greet you.”

“That’s because I’m gonna be a greeter.” I’m absolutely beaming. 

“Oh, baby, I’m so excited for you,” she says, still quiet but smiling. 

I find a place to park in front of the main building. It’s an adorable white house (cleverly nicknamed the White House). It’s colonial style, and had been converted into the camp’s main offices. 

“Are you okay, momma? You’re awfully quiet.” 

“I’m just really gonna miss you, baby. The whole summer, huh…?” she trails off, but her thoughts don’t seem complete and so I wait for her to continue. “Make sure you write, okay?” 

“Mom, of course I’ll write, I always do,” I place my hand on hers. “Walk me in?” 

She nods at me, eyes glistening from tears close to surfacing. I know that with me gone, and my dad always working, she was going to be lonely this summer. 

Even with her shifts at the bakery. 

Our doors thud behind us as we walk towards the White House, gravel crunching under our shoes. 

“You know, your dad is actually planning on taking me somewhere this summer. To get away for a bit.” My mom’s mood is lightening, and the slight pain I felt for her previously slowly recedes. 

“Woah, that’s great, mom! Where to?” 

“Not sure yet, I’m still deciding.” We arrived at the White House doors and she was reaching to open them. I guess dad’s letting her choose where they go. I smile at the thought. I’m not going to feel so guilty about leaving her alone all summer anymore. 

We step into the small entrance area of the building to check in. 

“Marco, Mrs. Bodt,” a booming voice greets us, approaching from the back room. “So good to see you.”

Erwin came around the main desk, his large hand taking mine in a firm handshake. “We’re really happy to have you back, Marco.”

“So happy to be back, Erwin,” I beam, smiling up at him. He’s so friendly, but his broad frame is still intimidating at times. 

He turns away from me to properly greet my mother and make small talk. In the meantime, the woman behind the desk gestures to me and helps me to check in and sort out my details. Other counselors and staff-to-be come in and out, although I don’t catch their faces at the time, each taking the chance to talk to Erwin. That’s what I love about this place, we are all family here. 

I feel my mom’s hand on my back as she leans over to see the papers I am signing.

“So…what age group?” she asks, genuinely curious. 

“I got the little ones!” I say in hushed excitement. “Seven to eight years old.” Most people would probably be upset by this outcome, but I’m ecstatic. 

“That’ll be exciting for sure,” my mom chuckles. “Doubt there will be a dull moment. You sure you’re up to the task?” 

“Of course, mom! You know I’m great with kids. This is gonna be a blast.” I truly am pleased. I love little kids and know that there definitely will not be a dull moment this summer. 

Overhearing us, Erwin adds, “Great to hear it, Marco. Need someone to help you bring your things to your cabin? I can send someone out.” 

Your cabin. How I longed to hear those words. 

“Oh, no, I’ve got it. Thank you though, Erwin.” 

“Just let me know. Go get settled in. And Mrs. Bodt, stop by again before you go.” He smiles in our direction warmly. 

“I sure will,” my mom chimes as we head out of the White House. 

As we walk out, Erwin calls after us, “Lunch is at 12:30 below the dining hall, and that will be our first formal meeting!”  
I turn back to the building to give a small wave and let Erwin know I’d heard him. I reach into my pocket to find the car keys and open the trunk. “Next stop, boy’s camp!” I announce with a huff, lifting my duffel bag strap onto my shoulder. 

“I’ve got your paddle and stuff,” my mom informs me, taking them out and shutting the trunk with a soft thud. I thank her and we make our way across the camp to the boy’s side. 

The walk is silent as I take in the familiar surroundings—the waterfront, the yellow canoes with their unique names painted in blue, and the “big red slide” as the waterslide is called. I breathe in the fresh scent of the pine and birch trees, the grass, and the Camp Trost air. All school year long I yearn for this smell. And I  
certainly can’t wait for the scent of campfires and my favorite camp meal—chicken burgers. Mm. I salivate slightly at the thought. 

We walk across the short wooden bridge that marks the boundary for boy’s camp. I like how the boy’s side was slightly disconnected from the rest of the camp. It’s surrounded by tall pines and even has its own beach on the lakefront. Girl’s camp is definitely more convenient, being closer to the dining hall, the sportsfield, and other activities, but boy’s camp is secluded and peaceful. There are a couple other guys entering cabins with parents or co-counselors, unpacking their things inside and decorating the interiors with posters and string lights. I think about introducing myself then, but I decide against it. I only have about an hour until lunch and the first meeting, where I’m going to get to meet them anyway. I don’t yet know which of my camp friends have come back as staff—before the end of the previous summer’s session, we decided that it would be a surprise and chose not to tell each other. 

“We’re looking for cabin 2,” I tell my mom, as we approach the cluster of cabins labeled “Mohawk” indicated by a wooden sign nailed to a neighboring tree. Years ago, as a first year camper, I was in cabin 5—part of the Iroquois circle which included ages 10 to 13. I have never been a part of the youngest boy’s circle before, but now I’m going to be a counselor for it. 

Each circle at Camp Trost consists of four cabins, each with its own counselor. The circles also have a circle director and multiple counselors-in-training—part of the Trost Leadership Course. We call them TLCs for short. I’m lucky to have been able to skip that stage. Honestly, I don’t know why Erwin allowed me to surpass the TLC stage, because that rarely happens, but I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I had earned my CPR and lifesaving training certificates independently. 

“Oh crap, you don’t have a lot of time before your meeting. I’ll let you get to it.” We walk up the wooden steps that connect the porches of cabins 1 and 2, and I swing open the wooden door to the completely empty cabin. It’s going to be my job to make it welcoming and fun for my future campers. 

“I’ll just throw down my stuff and walk you back to the car then,” I offer.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I don’t want to drag out this goodbye any longer. It’ll make me too sad.”

“Mom…” I start, dropping my duffel onto my designated bunk. I take the paddle and lifejacket from her hands and place them on the floor, and wrap her small frame in a big hug. 

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” I whisper. She reaches her arms around my waist and tightens her grip. I hear her sniffle into the crook of my neck in response. 

“Make sure you write me from whatever cool place you go with dad,” I continue. “And I’ll have my phone. I’m not technically supposed to text, but shoot me one every once in a while. I’ll try to do the same.” 

She holds me out at arms’ length, sniffling again while she gently squeezes my arms. “I will, sweetie. Have an amazing time. Be responsible and stay safe, okay?  
Don’t want to get a call from the camp saying you were eaten by a bear… or a 7 year old.” 

I chuckle lightly. “I won’t mom, I won’t.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna go. I’ll stop to say goodbye to Erwin first though. I love you so much, Marco.”

“I love you too, momma.” I hug her once more. 

She turns towards the door before quickly asking, “Can I first take a picture of you in front of your cabin?”

“Sure, okay, let’s make it quick. Still gotta unpack.” 

We step back onto the porch and she pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her denim capris. I pose next to the number “2” on my cabin door with a big cheesy grin, and she snaps her picture. 

“Okay, I’ll go now. For real, this time.” Before stepping down the wooden stairs, she takes my hand. “Have fun, baby.” 

I give her my biggest smile. “You know I will. Drive safe, okay? Let me know when you’re home.” 

We wave to each other until she is out of sight. 

I turn and head back into the cabin to start unpacking my things. I unzip my duffel and dig out my iPod speakers, placing them on my designated shelf by my bunk. I then organize stacks of clothes on the surrounding shelves. The long car ride has me feeling like I really need to brush my teeth and freshen up, so I shuffle through the rest of the duffel’s contents to find my toiletries. After cleaning myself up a little, I check my watch. “Crap, I gotta go!”  
I pick up my paddle and lifejacket before exiting the cabin, and I walk down the steps and around the corner of the cabin to place the items on their designated hooks. I forgot to get a whistle. Of course now I remember. 

*Creeeeeaaaak*

The sudden sound startles me from my thoughts, mainly because it’s coming from the cabin connected to mine and I thought I was alone. I look up to see a boy about my age with interesting two-toned hair stepping out onto the porch. He seems familiar…has one of my camp friends gotten an undercut?  
As soon as we make eye contact, there is a brief awkward pause before we almost double over laughing. It’s crazy, but it’s the same guy I had nearly knocked down at the gas station a few hours ago. 

When I can finally breathe enough to speak, I choke out, “No way. What a small world.”

“Seriously,” he agrees. “What are the odds?” He makes his way down the steps to where I’m standing by the paddle and lifejacket racks. “I’m Jean,” he says, sticking  
out his hand. I take it in a quick shake. 

“Marco,” I reply. “Looks like we’re co-counselors!” 

“Yeah, walking to the meeting?” 

I nod, and we make our way to the dining hall together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Marco gets to know Jean a /little/ better, and introduces him to all of his camp buddies. The headbutting between Eren and Jean begins.   
> Hope you guys like it!

On our walk to the dining hall, I ask Jean where he is from. He tells me he lives a couple hours away from the camp, just on the border of Trost. He’s also a rising high school senior, and goes to a private school.

“What about you?” he asks, returning my questions.

“I’m from Jinae, I go to a regular old public school there,” I answer. “Oh, I wanted to ask, were you ever a camper here? I’ve been coming for a long time but I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Actually no, I’m an outside hire.”

 _Hm_. There aren’t many of those at Camp Trost. He must have good previous experience with counseling for Erwin to have hired him. I’m about to congratulate and welcome him there, but am interrupted by the sight of a familiar redhead also making her way to the room below the dining hall, accompanied by a short, bald kid.

“Oh man—one second,” I whisper to Jean, a smile creeping onto my lips. I dart forward, aiming myself between the two in order to swing my arms out and wrap them around their necks from behind. They both let out short gasps before turning to see who’s surprise-attacked them.

“Marco!” they sing in unison. They turn to fully face me and wrap their arms around me as tightly as possible (and just about knock the wind out of me).

“We knew you’d be asked back!” the redhead exclaims cheerily.

“Ready to be TLCs?” the bald guy asks, practically jumping.

“Actually, about that… I got asked back as a counselor,” I admit, albeit shyly.

“WHAT?” they shout, again in unison. They’re perfect for each other, I think. They stare up at me in disbelief.

I explain, “Yeah, I got my bronze cross on my own, so I wouldn’t have to do it here…”

“That is so not fair,” the girl says. “Erwin clearly has his favorites.” At that last part, she faces her bald friend and rolls her eyes in my direction.

“Well, hey, at least you guys are here, too! I missed you both so much.”

I met the bald kid, Connie, during my first year as a camper. He was my bunk mate in cabin 5, and was a total goofball. The redhead, Sasha, knows Connie from school. We became friends by default, I guess. She’s always fun to be around, until she gets hungry.

I suddenly remember that I've left Jean behind to greet my friends.

“Oh, hold on a sec guys, I have to introduce you to my co-counselor. He’s new here, so _please_ be good.” I turn to walk towards Jean, who has just about caught up with me. I hear Sasha whisper something like _Ooh, does that mean an outside hire?_ to Connie.

“Jean, these are some of my old camp buddies, Connie and Sasha.” I introduce them, gesturing in their direction as I say their names.

“Guys, this is Jean, my co-counselor for Mohawk.”

Jean clears his throat and introduces himself. He’s blushing slightly, which seems uncharacteristic of the hardass I ran into at the gas station, but I guess I hardly know him yet. He’s probably nervous; I would be too if I were surrounded by people who already knew each other. Or maybe he thinks Sasha is cute. Either way, I want to make him feel welcome as best as I can.

We step into the room below the dining hall together, which is actually at ground level, not in the basement. We call this area the “Red Room” because of the dark red carpet and walls (again, we’re very clever with the nicknames here). The room is filling up, and I see that the lunch tables have little paper signs on them to specify where each circle and staff position should sit.

Camp Trost is Native American themed, which I’ve always found unique. The boy’s circles, from youngest to oldest, are Mohawk, Iroquois, Cree, Cayuga and Algonkin. The girl’s circles are Onondaga, Odawa, Seneca, Ojibwa, Chippewa and Dowanewa.

I realize that I haven’t asked Connie or Sasha which circles they are TLCs for, but it soon becomes clear when they split from our group. Connie heads towards the Algonkin table and Sasha hops over to the Ojibwa table. I have to chuckle to myself—although Connie will be older than his campers, the Gonks are going to tower over the little guy. Ojibwa’s a perfect fit for Sasha; the 13 to 14 year olds are going to love her bubbly personality and all around goofiness.

Jean and I make our way to the Mohawk table to meet the others we will be working with this summer. He keeps quiet. I silently hope that there will be more people I know and can introduce to him.

“Marco, no way!”

It’s the voice of my counselor from last summer, when I was an Algonkin. _Looks like he made it to Circle Director status_ , I think to myself. I turn to see a pair of big golden-brown eyes and outstretched arms coming towards me.

“Gunther! How are you?”

He makes his way around the Mohawk table to hug me and claps me firmly on the back twice.

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Erwin says, seeing our reunion while walking into the room. He squeezes behind us to take a seat at the center table, where the rest of the Camp Trost big-wigs are seated.

Jean and I take our seats as well, and soon the trickle of incoming staff comes to a stop. The Red Room is full of eager vets and staff-to-be. We’re ready for another amazing summer—ready to be the ones who make it happen. I look around and see many familiar faces, and I can’t wait to talk to them all after the meeting.

I dig right into my first camp meal in a year. Generally, camp food isn't notorious for being delicious, but here, it _is_. And the food served between camp sessions is always different and even better than _during_ the sessions (by some miracle I assume, because it's already so delicious), so I pile my plate high with rolls, pasta salad, and everything else being passed around.

During lunch, we begin the necessary introductions. We state where we’re from, how long we’ve been going to camp, and an interesting fact about ourselves. I remember the two other Mohawk counselors from last year, when they were TLCs: Eren and Thomas. Eren’s back, so that must mean Mikasa and Armin are here this summer too, I think.

When it comes to be my turn, I can’t think of a great interesting fact, so I mention that Jean and I had literally run into each other at a pit stop on the drive over. “I was relieved I would never have to see him again, I was so embarrassed,” I joke, earning a laugh from the rest of the table. “And of course this happens.”

It’s Jean’s turn, and it becomes time for his interesting fact. “Well I was gonna use the one Marco said, but I’ll think of something else…” he pauses to think before continuing with, “Uh, I can play guitar a little…”

“Wait, that’s great,” Eren interrupts, “we could use your talent for some of our circle activities!”

“Well, at least ask me, first,” Jean huffs. I cringe at his sudden harshness. _Please don’t secretly be a jerk_ , I plead silently. Hope Eren doesn’t take that too horribly. Even though we’re among people around our age, this is still a job, and we need to be respectful of each other. But Jean probably  _is_ overwhelmed.

“Oh, man, you’re right. I’m sorry, Jean,” Eren apologizes. “Didn’t mean to assume.”

Phew. I guess Eren hasn’t taken it the wrong way. But still, _someone’s_ grumpy.

“Plus, I’m not really that good at it.” Jean adds as he reaches for his cup of water and takes a sip. I’m about to assure him that his statement probably isn’t true, but am stopped when Erwin stands up to officially start the meeting.

Erwin introduces us to the camp activities staff. They are all returning members, but jobs are on a wheel to change things up each summer. So my friend Armin, who had been my TLC when I was in Cayuga, is now the new librarian for the summer. Petra is working at Crestwood, where knots, maps, tent-pitching and fire-building are taught. Mike is stationed at the craft and wood shop, and Reiner is taking his rightful place at the waterfront—in charge of swimming and canoeing. He loves to show off those muscles of his. Hanji is the leader at Swamp Lodge (as usual, though—she’s really into the science-y stuff), and Levi is now program coordinator. It’s wonderful to see their faces again. Even Levi's indifferent glare. 

 _I get to work with them now_. My stomach is suddenly filled with butterflies again. I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

We are given our staff shirts, which are bright red this year, and our counselor (or TLC) nametags. Every summer, the counselor name tags contain a new cryptic message for the campers to figure out during their session, and it’s displayed on a smaller square of plastic beneath the name part. As the tags are being passed out, everyone immediately sets to work attempting to decode the new message. I would be as well, but instead I find myself marveling at the rectangular piece of hard, blue plastic engraved with my name.

Hanji interrupts our bright chatter by practically singing out, “We’ll give you until the end of orientation to figure out the secret message, but then we’ll have to tell you what it is so the campers can start to guess when they get here.” She must have created the message herself, judging by the excitement in her voice.

“Can you figure it out?” I whisper to Jean, leaning in his direction and peeking at the nametag in his hands. His last name is Kirschtein. Cool.

“Nah, it’s way too complicated.” His eyebrows are woven into their now-familiar furrow, studying the shiny plastic.

“I can’t either. They’re always so difficult…maybe I’ll work on it during rest hour,” I suggest with a shrug.

“There’s a rest hour?”

“Yep. Every day after lunch.”

“Sweet,” he says, looking up.

“They’ll explain our daily schedule stuff soon, but you can definitely ask me if you don’t understand something here. Camp has a lot of little quirks that you have to go here for years to figure out” I explain to him.

“Yeah, I noticed…I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.” He looks up at me with a faint smile, in which I detect a hint of gratitude. It’s one of the first smiles I’ve seen on him. It softens his face and I find myself admiring his sharp features…for a bit too long. He notices me lingering, and quickly turns his head towards the veteran staff table, to where the next speaker begins to stand. I snap forward to do the same. _C’mon, Marco, that was kinda weird_.

For the remainder of the meeting, Erwin explains the plans for our orientation days—including team-building activities and training exercises, like fire drills, CPR, first aid…those kinds of things. I suddenly remember that we are allowed to get up for tea and coffee now that the meal has ended. I poke Jean on the arm and gesture to the coffee dispensers, trying to use body language to ask him if he wants some. Luckily he understands, and gives me a small nod. I get up to grab us mugs, making sure not to draw attention to myself while the meeting goes on. I feel my early drive that morning catching up to me and am grateful for the caffeine I’m about to consume.

I collect our coffees, all the while listening to Erwin and other vet staff make announcements, and weave my way back through the tables to hand Jean his mug and down the contents of mine.

After a few more announcements, I notice my fellow counselors toying with the handles of their mugs and fidgeting in their seats—me included. Even with the little dose of caffeine, we are all getting tired due to our early starts. I definitely will not be solving any cryptic messages during rest hour…I’m gonna nap.

Finally, Erwin grants us the magic words of dismissal, and we all get to our feet to clear and clean our tables. I take charge of wiping down my table with a provided wipe and toss it back into its designated bucket when I finish. I suddenly feel a small, warm hand rest on the center of my back.

I turn around to greet a pair of sparkling blue eyes and the smallest, sweetest smile known to man.

“Christa!” The short blonde quickly wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face into my chest, squeezing tight.

“I missed you so much, Marco!” she muffles into my shirt, and pulling away from me, adds, “Wow, you got tall!”

I chuckle at her ‘tall’ comment. “You’re back, Christa! I missed you too!”

She holds me out at arms-length, delicate fingers wrapped around my biceps, and looks up at my face, still smiling wide. It’s close to impossible how adorable this girl is.

“So, Mohawk, huh? That’s gonna be crazy!”

“Definitely…I know I’m not gonna be bored,” I say, the latter part mostly to reassure myself.

She releases my arms and takes a section of her shoulder-length blonde hair between her fingers, and begins to twirl it around sheepishly. She opens her mouth to say something, but quickly closes it again. She looks like she has a secret and wants to let me in on it, but isn't sure how to tell me.

“What is it?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

Christa steps closer to me, and reaches up on her tip-toes to whisper, “It’s official.”

I stare straight forward for a moment, trying to understand what her mysterious words mean. My eyes scan the room for a moment while I think, watching everyone leave the room to return to their respective cabins, before they land on the woman speaking silently with Mikasa. Suddenly, I know what Christa is talking about.

“Ymir?!” I exclaim, as hushed as possible, grinning down at the blonde. I take her by the shoulders and she nods her head in affirmation.

“Yes! I’m so happy for you, Christa! When?”

“Just last month,” she replies, turning a light shade of pink. _Her cuteness could probably kill a man_ , I think to myself.

I look up and notice that Connie, Sasha, and Jean have gathered by the door to wait, and have been chatting with each other while I've been talking with Christa. Well, Connie and Sasha are talking _at_ Jean, from the looks of it. I hope they aren’t annoying him. Or scaring him.

Christa and I walk over to join the group. After Connie and Sasha have said their hello’s to Christa, we all step out into the sun together.

Before I can introduce Jean to Chirsta, Sasha butts in. “Sooo, Christa, any progression with you- know-who?” she pries, waggling her eyebrows.

“Oh yeah, and what circle were you assigned to?” Connie adds on top of Sasha’s question.

Luckily this stops them from bombarding Jean, but now they've turned their sights towards Christa. She’s turning redder by the second.

“Onondaga,” she replies, lifting a hand to her flushed cheek, “and, uh, yeah…we’re actually…together now.”

As if on cue, Ymir runs up to our little group and tackles Christa into a hug from behind, drawing a small squeak out of the blonde. Smiles break out onto the faces of everyone in our group, except for Jean. _I should probably tell him what’s happening right now_.

I take a small step towards Jean and lean down slightly to whisper, “We’re happy because they’ve been crushing on each other for a long time now.”Jean looks up at me, and I can tell he’s grateful for the explanation. But he still doesn’t know who the girls are, so I speak up.

“Oh, Ymir, Christa.” They turn to face me.

“Marco, my man! How are ya?” Ymir grins, smacking me on the back and causing me to let out a little wheeze.

“Hah, I’m good, I’m good, great to see you, Ymir.” I turn myself to pull Jean up next to me by elbow. I hope he doesn’t mind all these introductions, I just want him to meet people.

“Guys, this is Jean, he’s my co-counselor for Mohawk.” Christa approaches Jean with an outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you Jean, I’m Christa!” I can tell her goddess-like levels of beauty have distracted him because he stutters out a “P-pleasure,” before taking her hand in a shake.

“Nice to meet’cha,” the taller girl butts in (defensively, almost, I notice. Doesn’t want someone stealing her new girlfriend away). “It’s Ymir.”

“J-Jean. Nice to meet you too.”

Sasha is the one to break the ensuing silence. “Well, now that intros are out of the way, let’s go! I need a nap so. Bad.” She grabs Connie and Christa by the wrists (much to Ymir’s dismay) to pull them towards the TLC cabins.

“Sash’s right, I could really use a nap,” Ymir says, cracking her neck.

(I know I mentioned Erwin could be intimidating… but between him and Ymir, I don’t know who I’d rather run into in a dark alley.)

“See you guys in an hour,” she says before heading off in the direction of girl’s camp, giving us a wave of her freckled hand.

“A nap really does sound good right now,” Jean says, breaking the silence Ymir left in her wake.

“Definitely,” I agree. We begin the walk down Ring Road towards boy’s camp. “So… what do you think so far…of camp?”

“It’s…interesting,” he sighs. “I mean, not in a bad way. It just feels like it’s gonna be a lot more work than I bargained for.”

I reply with a breathy chuckle before cautiously adding, “But you must be really good at counseling—or outdoorsy stuff—to be here… Camp Trost doesn’t usually do outside hires.” I hope that my words don’t come off as rude, because I’m positive he must have some amazing skills to have been hired by Erwin with no Camp Trost experience.

“Oh, uh… yeah, I guess,” he mutters, looking to his feet. He doesn’t seem to want to add anything else on the matter, so I let it drop. We pass over the little wooden bridge marking boy’s camp territory, passing beneath drooping pine branches into their canopy of shade.

Jean and I reach the conjoined porch of our cabins and walk up the shared porch steps, the painted wood creaking slightly under our weight.

“Well, uh, have a nice nap,” I utter into our silence before reaching for my cabin door.

“Wait, I--” I’m startled by his sudden blurt of words, and freeze in the midst of the stride I’m taking. I spin to face him. “Yeah?”

“I, uh, just wanted to say thanks…for, uh, including me back there,” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Oh, Jean, of course!” I smile wide, taking a step in his direction. “No need to thank me.”

“Well, it was really nice of you. So, yeah…thanks,” he repeats. He quickly reaches for his cabin door, attempting to hide what I believe to be a slight blush on his cheeks, and disappears into the cabin.

“Later,” I whisper, smiling to myself.

The second I step into my cabin, my weariness hits me like a train and I flop face down onto my bunk. I fall asleep quickly to the soft thrums of a familiar baseline coming from the cabin over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So if you're here, THANK YOU SO MUCH! My chapters are short, I know, but I'm still getting used to this fanfic thing. Again, if you're reading this, I'm so freaking grateful.   
> Coming up: team-building stuff, and Jean and Marco bonding over music probably. (Music brings peeps together!!!)   
> Thank you all again so much. I have no idea what I'm doing.

**Author's Note:**

> So if you're reading this, THANK YOU!!!  
> This is my first fanfiction ever, so I hope its not too ridiculous. I adore jeanmarco and I needed to get it out of my system somehow. More chapters to come!  
> This camp is based off an actual summer camp located in Ontario,Canada, my second home, to which I dedicated many perfect summers of my life. I never actually became a counselor there, but my sister did, and she's supplying me with the behind-the-scenes staff stuff. Also I'm making a lot of stuff up.  
> Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this.  
> Any constructive criticism or kudos would be much appreciated by this newbie fanfic author!  
> (Thanks to my beautiful friend Andrea for doing some edits for me - love you!!)


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